Les Malchanceux
by IbtiWiptyWoo
Summary: A girl with only half her memories, a mute mage with a guilty conscience and a boy who brings misfortune upon anything he dares to touch seek answers. Together they embark on a journey to faraway lands, discover secrets from the past, and along the way their bonds find themselves made, broken and mended as they struggle with choices between good, evil, love, friendship, and magic.
1. Prologue

**Just something original I'm working on. I know I have a lot of stories to update, but I wanted to try something original. The title is French and means "the unlucky" or "the unfortunate".**

**I hope everything will make sense eventually. This is just the prologue, but details are important...**

**Okay, well, enough ranting from me; please enjoy!**

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**Les ****Malchan****ceux**

**Prologue**

"Sister, is he breathing?"

Cecil's question hung in the air as his sister cautiously stepped closer to the edge of the cliff. The cold morning was evident in the air as she breathed out puffy white clouds with each exhale. The sky was dreary and the sun was only just colouring the sky deep yellows, oranges and pinks that contrasted sharply with the milky overlay that had held stars and galaxies only an hour prior.

Getting up at this hour was a chore Cecil was not eager to perform—unlike Circe, who must have stayed up the entire night, if the dark circles under her eyes were anything to go by.

When she had not answered, Cecil tried again. "Is he breathing, Circe?" Though Cecil knew it was rude to address her in this casual way, it was the only way to get her attention. Neither this fact, nor his impatient tone, seemed to bother her. Circe merely held up a single finger to silence her brother as she continued to carefully survey the visibly trembling figure far below her.

A silent nod brought Cecil his answer and he waited for his older sister to take action. Meanwhile he tried to come up with a plan. "We must try and retrieve him...her," he corrected himself as Circe shook her head lightly at his earlier assumption. "I don't think we can get down there. The cliff is too steep and will not hold. Maybe if we got a rope—"

He was interrupted by his sister as she shook her head once more.

"Then what?" Cecil asked incredulously.

As if to answer her brother, Circe held up her hands and made several swift movements. Cecil peered over the edge of the cliff to see what she was doing, and saw that the figure down below was slowly being engulfed in a soft golden glow. Circe silently waved her hand in an upwards motion and slowly, the figure was lifted up from the rocks below, as if held up by invisible hands, or a string extending to the heavens. Circe kept a close eye on the body and gently caught her when she had arrived far off the ground and onto the rocky plateau where the two siblings stood. The magical glow began to diminish and disappeared altogether when Circe closed her first, stopping the spell.

Circe laid the body gently down, and now it was clear she was breathing: her chest moved up and down under her thick cloak with each ragged breath she took. Cecil knit his eyebrows together and kneeled down on the ground, at least three feet away from Circe and the girl.

Circe looked for various things – the girl's pulse and her temperature – and eventually decided a warm cottage would be much better for the frail girl than the bitter winter air on the edge of a cliff.

Circe repeated the hand motions from before, and once again the girl was wrapped in a warm glow of magic power. She rose up, floating in mid-air, suspended by Circe's magic spell. Circe stood and started walking towards the woods, with the girl in tow and Cecil following from a safe distance.

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**Thanks for reading, and please leave a review! I'd appreciate any help or criticism.**


	2. Chapter 1: Lace

**Here's chapter one! It's very different to write original characters rather than borrowing characters from a show/book... I also find it strange to describe magic. This chapter was a little tedious to write, but introductions are now out of the way and it'll be easier to write/read/understand from now on.**

**Thanks for reading, and please leave a review!**

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**Les Malchanceux **

**Chapter One: Lace**

Magnificent stars and fascinating scenes danced and diminished in front of a pair of closed eyes, never sharing even a thought or glance with the world around her. They belonged to a figure silently dreaming night after night away in a comfortable bed near a small window, wrapped safely in the warmth of a sheepskin and an expensive-looking fur cloak. Upon closer inspection it was evidently a young woman. No, a girl, even. Her breathing was slow to arrive to slow to leave, but constant. The former shivering that had plagued her body for several horrid days and nights had thankfully stopped, and she would look almost peaceful had you not known she had been in that condition for almost a week, if not longer.

Circe let out a breath in a sigh. Keeping the girl in this sleep-like condition and stopping her from plummeting into a natural coma was slowly but surely draining her magic power. Circe was used to this—she was a healer, after all. Treating such a patient was not uncommon for her. Once she had treated Old Man Hiddle for almost two moons—that had not been a pleasant summer. But the apparent mystery of this girl was draining not only her magic power, but her sanity. Who_ was_ this girl? Where was she from? Why had she been at the bottom of a cliff in such a remote mountainous place, and how had she come to be there? Circe rolled her neck to bring some relief to her stiff shoulders.

It had been a strange week, to say the least. The day she had rescued the girl with Cecil she had had what one might call a nightmare. In fact, it had been a vision. Circe rarely got visions of this kind – she was not a seer. But magic worked in strange ways. She had had visions before, of course. Mostly warnings or omens. But to dream that she would find a body at the bottom of a cliff—well, it was strange, to say the least, and most definitely worth investigating. All Circe wanted now was for the girl to be well. If only she would open her eyes—

"Sister, have you seen my gloves?"

Cecil's voice was the only voice that ever filled the musty rooms of the little cottage, and even so it was rarely ever necessary for him to speak up. Circe would gladly speak was it not impossible for her to do so, but she had grown used to her inability to talk and loved it when her brother chose to do so instead. In answer to her brother's question, she merely pointed at a cupboard near the window, the only source of light in the room. Cecil's steady steps were the only sound as he retrieved them, and he then proceeded to take off his current snowy-covered fur gloves and replace them with the wool ones as carefully as he could with his deft fingers.

After carefully unbuttoning his cloak and outer coat, Cecil hung them up a hook, not bothering to brush off the stray snowflakes that stubbornly remained on the thick fur. He ran a hand through his dark locks and sat opposite his sister on a stool a few feet from the bed the girl occupied.

"How is she?" he asked. His nose and cheeks were red from cold, and he couldn't stop his teeth chattering as he spoke.

Circe held up a hand and waved another over the girl's forehead, never quite touching the skin, but hovering over it. Glowing gold symbols appeared on the girl's skin before they imprinted themselves on Circe's palm. The healer withdrew her hand and gazed into it, as if reading the symbols. Her brow furrowed and she bit her lip anxiously.

Cecil took this as a negative sign. His sister was easy to read when she wanted to be, as was he, and any other form of understanding between the two was scarce, but the fact was apparent: the girl's condition was not at all well. Circe's magic could inform her of the fact, as could it keep the girl safe from sudden death, but unfortunately only time and herbs would heal her.

"Oh, I have the rosemary," Cecil suddenly remembered, taking out a leather satchel and handing it over to his sister. "No yarrow. Not in the east meadow, anyway. I had no time to check the village, but I heard from Father David that the apothecary is closed until later this spring. He also said he will pray for the girl," he added as an afterthought.

Circe nodded in understanding, and accepted the bundle of rosemary from her bother with a grateful smile. Though they were not religious themselves and believed not in the gods, they knew this must mean a lot to Father David and the people of the church, so being gracious and thankful was the human thing to do.

Circe stood and left to the kitchen to create the infusion of rosemary. Cecil didn't know exactly what everything his sister made did, but he knew rosemary and yarrow infusions helped to reduce fever. Cecil himself couldn't tell whether or not the girl really needed the herbal treatment or not, but he dared not touch her to find out. He trusted his sister knew what she was doing, as she had been trained to be a healer since birth.

Cecil took the time he had waiting to study the girl. He had not seen much of her – though she had been in his home and occupying this room for almost a week now – as he had been working more than usual these past few days. The girl needed treatment and Circe was almost completely out of herbs due to the harsh winter and the many ill patients it brought with it. It was early spring, but snow still clung to the treetops and coated the mountainous forest in a grand white rug that extended for miles in every direction, and plants with useful properties only presented themselves now and then if he was lucky enough to find them.

Cecil brought himself to eye level with the girl, careful not to touch her by anything other than his breath and his gaze, and took in her features. She was not pale, but her skin took on a rather sickly shade that nestled in between red and green. Red due to the cold; green due to the fever. Her cheeks were permanently flushed, it seemed, and her nose was red-tipped and runny—much like his was at present. Her eyes were closed, and her eyelashes were a pale colour that matched her hair, which was in a peculiar sort of braid unfamiliar to Cecil. Well, as one who chose to keep his hair short, Cecil would know little about styling in any other way than occasionally passing a comb through his locks. One particular curl of hair was out of place, sticking stubbornly to her sweaty forehead, ruining the entire image. This annoyed Cecil immensely once he noticed it.

Tentatively, Cecil reached out his gloved hair and tried to flick the hair away without touching her, but ended up grazing her forehead with the tip of his gloved finger. The feathery touch must have been more forceful than he first thought, because only a moment later the girl's eyes fluttered slightly, and there was a movement under the lids.

Breathing hard, Cecil immediately jumped up and backed away, not daring to touch her even with his gloved hand any more. How could he have done something so risky? How stupid of him! How foolish! He could not repeat the incident. His muscles tensed as he thought of what could have happened if he had been less careful. Slowly his heartbeat returned to normal, and he visibly relaxed on the stool, though he moved another foot away from the bed just to be safe.

The girl had not moved any more, but just as Cecil thought she was back in her old state, she let out a sigh. It was quiet, but just loud enough for him to hear. He decided he might as well try and communicate.

"Are you awake?" he asked, enunciating his words so they were as clear as possible. He only hoped they spoke the same language, otherwise this would be useless and he would feel very foolish, indeed.

When he received no response, Cecil asked, "Can you open your eyes?"

Slowly, there was more movement under her eyelids, but they remained closed.

More gently, now, Cecil requested, "Please open your eyes. If you can," he added hopefully.

After a few moments, her eyelids fluttered, and then again. Almost tantalizingly slowly, they opened, revealing a pair of pale grey eyes that blinked rapidly for a few seconds. She was clearly not completely awake yet, or aware of her surroundings, for she only muttered, "Mother," in a raw voice, before closing her eyes and returning to sleep.

After about a minute of silence, and no more activity from the strange girl, Cecil deemed it safe to come closer. This had been a most peculiar string of events. At least she had awoken, and Cecil was now sure she was not in a coma or an eternal sleep. She was probably exhausted and feeling ill—poor thing. He couldn't possibly guess what she had been through to wind up in this state. Where was Circe with the infusion? It wouldn't take so long to make, would it? Wasn't an infusion like tea? Cecil shrugged to himself and ran a hand through his hair._ Hell if I know._

The light was already rapidly leaving the sky. A few last golden rays of sunlight streamed in through the window, before the sun set completely and the sky was engulfed in the magnificence of night. Cecil loved this part of the day for the deep colours the sky held. Circe loved it for the unique magic this time allowed her to explore. Cecil would never understand, but apparently magic worked differently at different hours. _This is why I don't toy around with it. Far too confusing, _he thought to himself.

Cecil gazed at the girl for a while, pondering on whether or not he should try and wake her again. It was probably best to wait for Circe, though he could not disturb her while she worked. It made her very irate and he didn't wish to be on the receiving end of her anger.

As he stared at the girl longer, he began to wonder where she was from. Her peculiar grey eyes and pale hair made a strange combination that he hadn't seen before. Fair-haired people came from the north, no? He had seen a few fair-haired maidens in his lifetime, but most self-proclaimed blondes had mousy brown hair at best. Black and brown hair was more common in this land. And what about the grey eyes? Very peculiar indeed; he had never seen them before. They were almost silver, with hints of the dark hue storm clouds brought upon the sky. She was not blind, but it was possible her eyes could be miscoloured, or perhaps this was a result of a spell. He made a mental note to ask Circe later.

As Cecil took in the details of the girl's features – like the two freckles on the right side of her chin, or the length of her eyelashes, or the rosiness of her cheeks – he admitted she was rather pretty. This was not of importance to him; almost all the girls he'd ever met were lovely in their own way. His sister was blessed with rare beauty, as had their mother been before her. Her skin was pale and soft as snow, and there was never a hair out of place in her dark, silken cascade. Cecil had also inherited his mother's looks, and it was clear he and Circe were related; had he not been taller, they could have been twins (although she was the oldest sibling, not he). They both had the same cold, calculating look in their dark eyes that they carried everywhere.

Light footsteps announced Circe's return, and Cecil focused his dark gaze on his sister. She carried a wooden bowl in her hands, which was steaming and had the same smell as herbal tea. Circe set the bowl down on the bedside table and her brother watched as she carefully parted the girl's lips and, with a snap of her fingers and a brilliant gold spell that illuminated the room, the steaming water trickled into the air in an airborne stream and found its way to the girl's lips. The girl swallowed and did not gag and Circe thanked the gods that she didn't choke like Old Man Hiddle had.

A cough, then another, stopped Circe in her tracks and she clenched her fingers together tightly, the infused water spilling all over the floor and the bed as the spell was stopped. Circe jumped up immediately, eyes widening at the mess she had made.

"Sister!"

As Cecil stood, prepared to clean the mess, there was another cough from the girl that led to a full-fledged coughing fit. Cecil wanted desperately to help her but he could not think of anything he could do. Instead he stood idly as the girl continued coughing. During the process she had opened her eyes and sat up, using the bedpost as support. Circe snapped her fingers and the coughing subsided, and the water was also instantly gone.

The girl gasped in a few deep breaths and looked around the room, feeling groggy and exhausted. It was as if a cat had used her throat as a scratching-post. Her frightened eyes darted from Circe to Cecil, their faces illuminated by the flickering light from the ever-present fire burning in the hearth. Her eyes were wide with fear, and she was trembling, but thankfully the coughing fit had left her. She clutched a hand to her chest as she watched Cecil collapse on the stool, relieved, and Circe visibly relaxed.

"Well, you gave us a scare just then," Cecil half-joked, giving a half-hearted chuckle. He cleared his throat and returned his attention to the girl. "Are—are you quite alright?"

The girl stared at him, bewildered, but managed a nod.

_Good._ Cecil inwardly gave a sigh of relief. _She understands me. Well, that makes everything a lot easier._

Cecil tried to smile reassuringly at her, though it might have looked like a grimace. "My name is Cecil. This is my sister, Circe. Are you in any pain?"

As it was the only contact Cecil ever received, he wished for people to hold eye contact with him. He found that most could not accomplish that simple task, and if they could, they couldn't hold it for very long. This frustrated him to no end. But this girl was staring into his eyes for so long that it made_ him_ uncomfortable and forced him to look away. Finally, she shook her head lightly, in answer to his question.

"Can you speak?" Cecil pushed, ignoring Circe warning look. "Can you tell us your name?"

The girl did nothing but give him a blank look, and then stared at Circe for quite some time.

"I..." Finally, she found her voice, but not the words to say. Her voice was raw from underuse, but Cecil guessed that at a better time it would be silvery and pleasant to hear. "I don't know. I—I don't remember."

Cecil went quiet. He looked at his sister for help, but she only looked back, as confused as he was. Cecil ran his hand through his stubborn locks once again, scratching the back of his neck in thought.

"Where am I?" the girl managed.

"In our house, on the Mountain of Edel."

"The Mountain of Edel?" the girl questioned, looking thoroughly confused. "I know not of any mountains. What land are we in? What kingdom?"

"No king owns this land," Cecil answered, standing up to stoke the fire, "and no queen neither. This is a free land, belonging to the people alone. A council decides any matters that might present themselves."

Confusion, then later realization took form upon the girl's features. "We are in Thylan, over the Southern Sea?"

"Correct." Cecil stared into the flames, unable to make himself meet her grey-eyed gaze. Circe, in contrast, was watching the girl attentively, as if analyzing every detail, however delicate. Cecil took a deep breath, as if preparing to do some tedious task. "You said you don't remember your name," he started.

The girl nodded weakly. "I did. Forgive me—I don't know why," she claimed, trying to choke back a sob. "No name comes to mind. I'm sorry..."

Cecil nodded in understanding, but this made everything a whole lot harder. If they had no information on who she was, where would she go? Circe took the girl's trembling, ice-cold hand in comfort, but it brought little of it. Cecil wished briefly he could do the same.

"I think I know where you're from," Cecil said, looking up to meet her hopeful face, "I think. You said Thylan was over the Southern Sea. The only land I know of in the north would be Ethera."

The girl took a moment, then shook her head. "I am not Etherian."

"Obviously not," Cecil wanted to say, but couldn't out of courtesy. The girl, indeed, could never be Etherian. Etherian men and women were known for their flawless snow-white skin and dark hair, often red or brown, and their eyes were always blue and one's appearance never strayed far from that tradition. They spoke with heavy accents that traced back to their traditional Etherian tongue. Although the girl had a trace of some accent in her tone, her consonants were mostly very hard unlike the Etherians', and she did not roll her R's or hiss the S's as they did. Her speech had a way of flowing, even in her hard, raw voice, and it was almost like a song when she spoke.

"May I have water? Please," the girl added hopefully, feeling her head begin to throb and her throat aching terribly. She sat up and unclasped the broche on her cloak, revealing a delicately woven white dress accented with pretty lace. Circe's eyes widened in appreciation of the number, and she wished she could ask where she had bought it from. She simply helped the girl up and waved her hand to Cecil, and he was off at once to fetch some water.

"Thank you," the girl said to Circe, offering grateful smile. Circe smiled back politely, and for a moment the girl saw not Circe, but another image of an older woman with flaxen hair and grey eyes with a warm smile on her face. The girl quickly shook her head to rid her mind of the strange image.

"What was your name?" the girl asked. "Was it Circe?"

Circe smiled and nodded, and the girl seemed to sense she could not or would not speak, so she stopped prying. Circe absent-mindedly ran a finger along the collar of the girl's dress, which was decorated with pretty lace depicting flowers, and the girl seemed to notice.

"Do you like it?"

Circe merely nodded.

"You can have it," the girl said. "It's not much use to me. All this lace..."

Just at that moment, Cecil returned with a cup of water, and the girl extended her hand so that she might receive it, but the dark-haired man set the cup down on the bedside table and took a step back.

"I— You might not want to touch me," Cecil advised. The girl merely looked confused at this, but did not pry and took the water from the tabletop with a 'thank you'. "More importantly, we need to find where you're from. And you will need a name."

Circe, as if in answer to the task, stroked the lace collar of the dress once, and her finger lingered on a flower that might have been Queen Anne's Lace, neatly stitched into the material.

"Lace?" the girl asked. "Will that be my name?" Circe nodded and then shrugged bashfully, and the girl smiled a brilliant smile at both Cecil and his sister.

"Thank you!" Lace smiled even brighter and hugged Circe, startling the healer. "I love it."

"Lace..." Cecil muttered, mostly to himself. His dark eyes found the strange girl's own grey ones.

_Lace...who are you?_

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**Lace's name is, I admit, a little strange.**

**Plants mentioned in this chapter:**

**Yarrow: infusions of yarrow help reduce fever**

**Rosemary: infusions of rosemary help reduce fever**

**Queen Anne's Lace: a flowering plant. This actually has nothing to do with lace itself, other than having white, almost frilly flowers, but I was looking through flowers and I decided, "I'm going to call her Lace." I was initially going to have a dress with this flower imprinted on it, but I realized that would look rather stupid. A lacey dress was a much better option.**

**Thank you for reading, and please leave a review! Help and criticism is much appreciated.**


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